


The Forest of the Black Roses

by TomorrowNeverCame



Series: Written in the Stars [1]
Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/F, Happy Ending, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, foxxay - Freeform, goode-day, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16212983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomorrowNeverCame/pseuds/TomorrowNeverCame
Summary: Cordelia Goode, High Priestess of the Temple of Hecate, cannot accept that the woman she loves is dead. She'll do anything to bring back Misty Day, even enter the Underworld and make a deal with Papa Legba.Foxxay/Goode-Day Mythology AU requested on Tumblr.Inspired by Stevie Nicks' The Forest of the Black Roses, and the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.





	The Forest of the Black Roses

Cordelia stepped into the clearing, finding it more by memory than sight under the darkness of the new moon. Goosebumps rose along her skin despite the heavy black cloak she wore.

“I admire your tenacity, servant of Hecate, but you are really starting to piss me off.” Cordelia turned calmly, seeking glowing red eyes in the dark; her fear had worn off around the tenth time she’d forced this meeting.

“I mean no disrespect,” she started carefully. All around her, black leaves rustled silently in a non-existent breeze. “But I don’t mean to give up, either.” Papa’s burning eyes narrowed at her, stroking his chin in thought.

“You’ve gotten far to used to wandering around my forest. But still too afraid to enter,” he mused, a sly grin creeping across his face. “Wouldn't you like to see it? See her?” Cordelia’s brow furrowed, mouth open in reply, and then they were in a classroom.

“Please don’t make me. I don’t want to. Please don’t—“ Cold weight dropped in Cordelia’s stomach, knowing what she would see before she turned around. The fluorescent lights made her look sickly, golden hair ashy and dull, but the redness around her eyes made the blue even more startling than the High Priestess remembered.

“Misty,” she grasped. All thoughts of composure lost, Cordelia lunged for the scalpel only to jerk back when her hand went straight through.

“She can’t see us,” Papa mentioned. Sinking down beside the whimpering blonde, a few tears escaped from Cordelia’s eyes.

“Please,” she whispered, not looking away from Misty’s profile. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Cordelia scowled, brushing off her black skirts and rising. She fixed a hard look on the deity.

“She’s a pure soul—she doesn’t belong here.” Papa merely raised his eyebrows. 

“She has rage,” he pointed out. “She’s killed."

“Never unjustly."

“She’s right, you know.” The voice arrived before it’s owner, and blinding light filled the room a moment later. When it faded, a regal woman stood before them, dark hair and olive skin seeming to glow from within and cast warmth into the room. Cordelia gasped, falling to her knees before the goddess.

“Mother.”

“Hecate,” Papa Legba greeted with a sweeping bow. He frowned as he rose, a warning in his voice. “What brings you to my realm?"

“Rise, child.” Her face was kind and open as she spoke to Cordelia, but as she turned to Papa Legba it grew wise and stern, aging before Cordelia’s eyes. “I’ve come to see my daughter reclaimed, Legba. Her kind heart has earned my favor. She does not deserve to remain here.” Papa scoffed.

“Deserve has nothing to do with it. She failed to free herself, so she is no longer yours. That is the contract of Descensum.”

“I offer a new contract.” The two entities squared off, Cordelia’s eyes flickering between them nervously as she tried to ignore Misty’s cries. “This woman loves her. She is willing to do anything to get her back. Let her try.” The Supreme nearly flushed at the admission, but her goddess’ last words made the blood drain from her cheeks as fast as it had risen. Papa Legba grinned, and metal clattered to the floor.

“M-Miss Cordelia?” The High Priestess let out a cry, forgetting about her onlookers as she embraced the younger woman. Misty clutched at her, sobbing into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she babbled. “I didn’t want to hurt it, but I couldn’t stop. I tried to stop, Miss Delia, I tried.”

“Shhh. Oh, Misty. It’s okay, sweetheart. It wasn’t real. None of this is real. You got stuck. This is your hell,” she explained quickly into the mass of wild blonde hair. “But I’m going to get you out.” The clearing of a throat interrupted their reunion, and the women turned toward Papa Legba, arms still tight around each other.

“If we could…get on with it?” Misty shrank into the older woman’s arms, wide eyes darting between the three figures. Cordelia glared.

“What is the task? What do you want in exchange for her life?”

“Nothing.” Papa shrugged. “I will take you both back to the clearing, and if you lead her out of the forest, she will regain her life. But,” he warned, “you must not set eyes on her until you are out.”

“And if I do?” The god chuckled darkly.

“Then you will be the one putting scalpel in her hand.” Misty whimpered at his words, nails digging into Cordelia’s sides.

“You can’t, Miss Cordelia,” she protested. “You can’t risk it. The girls, the academy, they need you. I—I can’t let you be stuck here. You have to leave me.” Hard, coal-black eyes met her watery blue ones.

“If you leave,” Hecate cautioned, “you will not return until your own death. A mortal cannot enter Hell twice and live.” Neither woman made any sign of hearing her. Cordelia’s hands wrapped firmly around Misty’s arms, hauling her up on shaky legs.

“No,” she said firmly. “I am not leaving you here.” The younger blonde threw her arms around Cordelia, nodding into her shoulder.

“I’ll follow you,” she whispered. “I promise, no matter what happens, I’ll be following you.” Both women looked up as footsteps neared them, Misty sucking in a breath as she fully focused. “Mother Goddess.” Hecate, now stooped and gray-haired, smiled up at her young novice.

“Misty Day, your compassionate, open heart is a great gift. There is much still I hope to see you do in my service.” Misty nodded shyly, flush from the attention. Turning to Cordelia, the goddess continued. “My noble High Priestess, now is the test of your faith. Though you may not hear or feel her, trust that she follows, and do not turn back.” She placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Be strong, my daughters.”

Rolling his eyes, Papa Legba approached as the witch goddess retreated. “Last chance, Miss Cordelia. You can still save yourself.” The High Priestess clenched her fists in Misty’s shawl, gaze even as she met his burning eyes.

“Never.”

“Very well.” With a flourish, he raised his cane high off the ground, beginning to bring it down. Seized with panic that belied her calm exterior, Cordelia desperately clutched the younger blonde close. 

“Misty, if this doesn’t work, I need you to know that I—“ Everything went black. Not even a trace of the swamp woman’s warmth was left as Cordelia stumbled forward in the suddenly empty space, surrounded by forest once more. In the first wild, thoughtless moment, she almost turned around before catching herself. Letting her sight adjust to the dark, she could make out a path through the woods—the path that would take her home, back to the human world, hopefully with Misty. Eyes fluttering shut, she fantasized that she could feel the faintest breath stirring her hair, and to this thought she made the first step forward.

“I promise I’ll bring you back,” she whispered.

The silence unnerved her quickly. Copper hit her tongue when her lip finally split where she’d been chewing it, and she sighed. They weren’t even halfway there yet, and the urge to turn around grew with every step. "I can’t. I can’t risk it,” she told herself, “but I’m going crazy here."

“Misty?” Her voice cracked as she raised it, and she cleared her throat before starting again. “I—I know you can’t speak, but if you really are there, then you can listen.” She bit her lip despite the pain, feeling slightly silly, not knowing what to say. “It’s—I don’t know if you know—but it’s been three months since you…and so much has changed. We have several new initiates. Queenie and Zoe are my council, and I want you to be as well. I’ve…I’ve been coming here every day I can get away, trying to convince Papa to let you go. I can't bear to do this without you. I—“ She choked on a sob, coming to a halt with her face buried in her hands. “I didn’t have the chance to tell you before, but I…I love you. Gods, Misty, you have no idea how long I’ve loved you…and I have no idea if you’re even really there.” A laugh hiccuped from her throat. “I trust our Goddess, but I do not trust Papa Legba.”

Dropping her hands in defeat, Cordelia’s fingers brushed the petals of a rosebush by her hips; they grew everywhere in this undead forest, buds black and velvety like the skirt of her dress. She caressed the flower, tracing it’s barely-visible outline, using it to ground herself.

“He said I couldn’t look at her,” she murmured to herself, “so what if I closed my eyes? Could I touch her?” She shook her head. “I might go right through her, and then I couldn’t stop myself from looking. But there has to be a way. I can’t go on wondering.” Attention lapsing, she stroked idly down the stem of the rose, a large thorn pricking the pad of her thumb. Yanking away with a hiss, she dug it out, crimson drops shining on the tip in the faint moonlight. She stared, transfixed. It was crazy, not to mention dangerous, but if it could help her save Misty’s life, she would do whatever it took. She’d been blinded once before by a group of Apollo’s followers, descendants of the Delphic cult. Hecate had blessed her with its return when she rose as the new High Priestess, but she could not hope to be granted such favor again. This would be permanent.

Her temples throbbed with phantom pain at the remembrance, but it was nothing compared to the fire that tore through her skull as she plunged the thorn deep into one eye and then the next. She screamed and fell to her knees.

It’s impossible to say how long she lay there, fading in and out of awareness; light never shone in this forest that bordered the Underworld. Eventually, she staggered to her feet, wiping blood from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Anchoring one palm on the tree next to the rosebush, so she remembered which direction to face, she let the other sweep out, praying to all the gods she possibly could that this would work. Stretching out so only her fingertips grazed the bark, she almost cried out when her free hand brushed soft curls. Careful to remember her orientation, she stepped closer, feeling her way across narrow shoulders, a sharp chin, and tear-damp cheeks.

“Oh, Misty,” she breathed, “you’re here. You’re really here.” The girl seemed unable to move or make a sound, but Cordelia could feel her trembling when she rested her forehead against the taller woman’s shoulder. She allowed herself only one moment of the weakness, knowing they had lingered too long already. She knotted Misty’s limp fingers in her own, tugging her forward and determined not to let go until they were free. The Cajun’s skin was cool against her own, not yet flush with life, and the thought made her steps quicken. If the path had turned at all, she surely would have been lost. 

Cordelia felt rather than saw the light on her face, but she barely had time to register the sensation before being overwhelmed with another: Misty. The warmth had returned to her skin, the rich scent of earth and herbs to her hair as she wrapped her arms around the High Priestess. The shorter woman held her tightly, relishing in the echo of a second heartbeat against her chest.

“I’m so sorry, Delia. I tried to move, to say somethin', but I couldn’t,” Misty explained into her shoulder. “I wanted to stop you. I wanted to tell you—“ Cordelia shook her head, pulling back to wipe the tears from the other blonde’s cheeks.

“I wouldn’t have let you. I told Papa Legba I would give anything for your life, and I meant it.” Her hair fluttered against her jaw as Misty exhaled, brushing a thumb gently over her cheekbone, removing the last of the dried blood. Letting her hand rest on the older woman’s cheek, she kissed Cordelia's forehead, hovering there for a long moment before pressing their lips together softly.

“I love you, too.” Cordelia grinned despite the pain it caused, pulling the curly blonde into another kiss.

“Well done.” The women parted, arms still wrapped around each other as they turned toward the smiling goddess. Hecate tsk’d, moving forward to hold Cordelia’s chin and examining her mangled eyes. “Patience is not your virtue, my dear, but what you did was very brave.”

“I’d rather live without my sight than without Misty.”

“Dee…” the Cajun woman murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair before turning to the goddess with big eyes. “Please, Mother Goddess. Could you at least make it so she’s not in pain?” Hecate gave her a warning look at the plea, but Misty held firm, and after a moment the dark-haired woman relented. The goddess passed a hand over Cordelia’s eyes, and when she removed it, they opened fully healed. Both blondes gasped, embracing each other.

“Thank you, Hecate,” Cordelia told her. With a gentle smile and a nod, the witch goddess disappeared. The High Priestess released her lover’s waist and entwined their fingers. Misty’s ocean-blue eyes found hers, soft and bright with tears.

“Let’s go home, Delia."

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: both Papa Legba and Hecate are associated with dogs, spiritual crossroads, and the boundary between realms.


End file.
